Eucalyptus by Murray Bail

Author:Murray Bail
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781921776991
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2010-11-17T16:00:00+00:00

Agreed, it was an unhappy story. Ellen wanted to tell him and at the same time ask if he liked dogs. She had suddenly many questions; but he had moved to another tree, seemingly at random, a Grey Gum (E. punctata), which is called Leather Jacket on account of its bark, and eased into virtually an identical story—except for one crucial difference.

As follows: a shoemaker in Leichhardt (I should tell you it’s a suburb in Sydney of telegraph poles and telegraph wires and red telephones) every evening goes to the grave of his wife, often forgetting to take off his leather apron, and tells her the news of the day, and asks her advice, ‘Mrs Cudlipp’s heels have gone again, those green shoes. She should take off weight. I forgot to water the flowers. We’re running out of laces again. You know the Farini girl, the one whose boyfriend picks her up on the motorbike? He came a cropper, and tore his leather jacket. “I only do shoes,” I told her. I took a look, I can patch it up. What do I charge? The usual? The postman, Reg, he’s back again. Of course his tips keep falling off. I’ve told him a thousand times, rubber, switch to rubber, as you always said. But he’s the old school. He likes his cup of tea! Two women are going to the same wedding, you know them. My memory’s going. Both high heels, reinforcement of the straps. The one with the loud voice, you said her mother was deaf. Man came in for change for a parking meter. Did I tell you the lease is up in November? I did, yes. We’ll have to nut that one out, I’ve got a few thoughts. They say it’s going to rain tomorrow.’

He also wanted to know what to do with all her shoes, sensible shoes, with affectionate wrinkles, which remained in rows at the bottom of their wardrobe.

This story which had rolled off his tongue was supposed to be an antidote to the one about the stagnation of a marriage, the bitter canine catastrophe, as he put it; but Ellen found it sad, far sadder, almost too sad to contemplate. As she pondered the strengths and weaknesses of a long companionship, the trees around her went out of focus; it was all verging on a dream. The subject of course was as vast and as varied as a forest, the different aspects coming in from different angles in different shades.

Glancing, she wondered how he’d look in a leather jacket.

To cheer her up, he spotted a small tree from Queensland, E. beaniana, and in a thoughtful tone told her that not long ago he’d overheard an oldish woman on a Manly ferry comment to a woman who may have been her daughter, ‘That’s a terrible name! It’s going to be a millstone around her neck.’

He turned to Ellen, ‘Ah-ha, she smiles.’

Speaking of millstones, what about the technical sales manager of an industrial ceramics firm, Sydney

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